


untitled smutfic 1

by flight815kitsune



Category: The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Anal Sex, Dom Steve Rogers, M/M, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Wall Sex, i'm hesitant to tag it that, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-07 00:08:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4241868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flight815kitsune/pseuds/flight815kitsune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I got a request for ravaging. So...</p>
            </blockquote>





	untitled smutfic 1

“Reckless-” and the words are an accusation he hisses into Tony’s throat, one punctuated by teeth.

Tony’s hands at the base of his neck. Tony pulling himself up,  jumping into his arms.

He holds him up. Of course he holds him up, hands finding purchase on Tony’s buttocks with a grip that will probably bruise. Tony hisses, but his feet end up in the small of Steve’s back anyway. The slam against the wall leaves Tony breathless, and frees up Steve’s hands to remove the barrier of their clothing. A seam tears, and neither of them can bring himself to care.

Steve’s hand underneath fabric, moving it down Tony’s legs even though it is impossible to remove the pants entirely. It does, however, reveal the globes of his ass to the cool workshop air.

One of Steve’s hands seems to spread him further (even though his legs are as spread as they could be, He knows that, from experience. He was just… exposed.) as the other drags down his own zipper. Tony’s pants are trapped between them, not forgotten just ignored.

Steve spits into his hand. Strokes himself. Never breaks eye contact. Sometimes he makes his eyes seem so cold, like he still carries the ice he was frozen in inside of him.

Tony can't hold back the cry as Steve,  spit-slick, enters him.

“Shut up, Tony. Wouldn’t want anyone to come looking.”

A still-damp palm settles on Tony’s thigh, tugging him closer even as his back is pressed against the wall behind him. Every movement sets off sparks, a sharp contrast to the way every inch of Steve fills him, takes him, owns him. Agony and ecstasy and nowhere near enough. He tries to shift the angle, but when Steve moves the only thing he can do is hold on.

“Steve, Steve, Steve-” It’s a mantra panted to the ceiling as nails dig into the skin on the back of Steve’s neck. The pink marks would heal fast, maybe even before anybody would get a look at the way they peeked from beneath Steve’s collar.

“Tony.” and this kiss is just as crushing as the first. Inescapable. The movement of his hips is harsh and demanding, every thrust dragging out only to slam back in.

There’s a desperation to the sounds torn from Tony’s throat.

Steve muzzles him with the hand he had spit into, the hand that smelled like breath and sweat and musk. A thumb digs into Tony’s face, just below his cheekbone. “What did I tell you?”

The other moves from it’s position to grab the base of Tony’s cock. He’s still fighting the fabric stretched tight between them.

He devours Tony’s throat in a way he knows will leave marks.

Tony’s close, flushed dark and throbbing, dripping with need. Steve’s hand matches the rhythm of his hips.

Tony’s twitching, trying to get those fingers tighter around him, trying to get more of Steve inside of him, trying to breathe as the palm on his face muffles him.

“I could leave you like this.” Steve’s voice is low, the words undeniable threat. “I could come, and just keep you right here until I wanted to go again. And again. And again. Until you couldn’t even think with how much you needed me, until it was dripping out o-”

Tony climaxes, every muscle tight. Steve’s hand can’t hide the cry, and it’s impossible to hide the moisture at the corners of Tony’s eyes.

He keeps stroking him through it, pounding into him until Tony’s shaking and- “Fuck.” He breathes into Tony’s collarbone, tumbling over the edge in a way that makes him glad for the support the wall provides. The rush overwhelms him as he leans, sandwiching Tony beneath him. The hand that had been over Tony’s mouth meets the wall. The other moves to the small of Tony’s back.

Tony’s fingers start absentmindedly tracing patterns on the nape of his neck, spiking the short blonde strands.

His ragged breathing slows, and when he glances up, Tony is there with an raised eyebrow and a soft smile.

He would never get used to that, the way Tony seemed to shift gears so quickly after sex, how he could step out of whatever role he’d been put in and just be Tony again.

“C’mon, Steve. Bed.” Tony says, patting him on the cheek.

He heads towards the cot on unsteady feet, still entangled with Tony.

Tony lowers himself down, putting more of his weight on Steve’s shoulders than was perhaps entirely necessary.

The pants are kicked off. Between the seam’s decision to fail and the bodily fluids caught in the fabric, they would have to be replaced.

Tony makes a face when he sits down.

“Are you okay?” He strokes the mark on Tony’s face from where his thumb was.

“You worry too much.” Tony turns away, flopping onto the bed.

“Only about you.”

There’s a long pause before Tony says, “Right.”

The small bed probably wasn’t designed to support the both of them, but when Tony says “Stay?” with that note to a voice which speaks of being refused one too many times, he can’t help but climb in with him.


End file.
